I Need to Know
by paxi000
Summary: Mary shared her secret, but what is going on in Matthew's mind?


**This fic is my first about Downton Abbey: nervous laugh!**

**After all the joy from the proposal, I had to understand what was going on in Matthew's mind. English is not my native language, so please, be considerate ;) However, French is, so the French bits should be all right!**

**It takes place right after Isis' search party. **

* * *

><p><em>- Why were you up at the house this evening? <em>Mattew turned to look at Mary. _Did Papa summon you?_

_- As a matter of fact I came to see you._ They both stopped and looked at each other. _I wanted to find out what you meant when you said you _had_ to marry Carlisle and that I would despise you if I knew the reason. _

_- Yes, you would. _

_- Whatever it is it cannot be enough for you to marry him. _

_- That's what Papa said. _

_- So you told _him_. _

_- Yes. _

_- And does he despise you?_

She did not lift her head, feeling him watching her. _- He's very disappointed in me. _

_- Even so. Please tell me. _

She shook her head and continued to walk, slowly.

_- Mary. Please. _

_- I am just waiting for the others to distance us. _Her heart was beating so fast. She glanced at him. This was the last time she would see him, she was sure of it. How could he handle the truth? No men could. They all wanted their bride to be blushing and virgin on their wedding nights. Nobody in their right mind would want her. He touched her arm, startling her out of her reverie.

_- My imagination is running wild. _

Her throat closed up. Her eyes started to water. _– I… We… Do you remember M. Pamuk?, _she whispered.

He grew anxious as he saw her losing her means. _– Yes. _

_- He died at the house._

_- Yes. _

_- In my bed. _

_- What?_

_- That night, he came to me. To my bedroom. _

He could see where she was heading, but he wanted her to tell him. He needed to hear it from her. _– How did he find it?_

_- I don't know. _

_- Did you invite him in?_

_- No! Matthew! _She struggled to keep the tears out of her voice.

_- Did he force…_

_- No! _She interrupted him. _We were intimate. He did not…_

She stopped on the lawn. He continued to walk, unaware that she was a few steps behind. Mary could not bear his silence any longer.

_- Say something. If it is only good-bye…_

To say something? How could he? He remembered seeing Mary the day after the death. She had seemed to be mourning him, the Turkish gentleman. She was in despair. She must have been in love with him. That was the reason. She loved him. She fell in love with and thought they would marry. Many young people would do that. He knew so. They would fall in love, plan to get married and then be intimate beforehand. She had been seduced by his exotic looks. She loved him and that Pamuk had taken advantage of her. He turned to look at her. He needed to know. Was he the reason she refused him all those years ago? Was she still in love with the Turk?

_- Did you love him?_

She closed her eyes and shook her head. _– You mustn't try to …_

_- Because if it was love, then…_Then he would understand. Then it would make sense.

_- How could it be love. I didn't know him…_

_- Then why would you…?_ She had to love him. It made no sense. Mary, calm and collected Mary.

_- It was lust, Matthew!_ Lust? How could she know of lust? She was a woman. A lady. They did not know of these things. She was a delicate flower. She should not know about these lowly needs. These manly needs._ Or a need for excitement or something in him that I… Oh God. What difference does it make? _What difference does it make? She surely must understand the he needed to know. He needed answers. In a matter of minutes, their relationship had been overthrown. Had they ever been honest? Was anything real between them?_ I am Tess of the d'Uberville to your Angel Clare. I am impure. _Impure?How could she say that so? He could not stand her trying to brush it of. She had to have a reason. Why would she compromise herself thus? He got angry.

_- Don't joke. Don't make it little. Not when I am trying to understand. _He needed time to understand.

_- Thank you for that. But the fact remains that I am made different by it. Things have changed between us. _

He could not face her. Of course things had changed. She was no longer a virgin. She had known carnal love. Excitement. Passion. And without him. He thought, he had hoped they would… maybe one day… Then they had broken up and the war and Richard Carlisle. Oh, Carlisle. He was already mistreating her. In front of them all. What would he do in private?. He couldn't stand the thought.

_- Even so._ He walked to her. He had to make his point. _You must not marry him. _He looked her in the eyes.

_- So I must brave the storm?_

_- You're strong. _She was the strongest of them all. She bore this secret for years. She was the rock of this family. Of his family. _A storm braver if ever I saw one. _

_- I wonder. Sybil's the strong one. She really doesn't care what people think, but I am afraid I do. _What people think? More, what Matthew thought. They shared a look. Sybil wasn't strong to him. She had convictions. She fought for them, whereas Mary was calm, solid. Her struggles were internal. _Papa suggested I go to New York to stay with Grandmama to write it out. _

New York? How could she go there? Abandon hi… No. Abandon them. To avoid facing scandal. To avoid facing him. And what would she do there? Find someone else? Another man to lie to?

- _And you could find some unsuspecting millionaire? _

She knew her was hurt, but so was she. _– Preferably one who does not read English papers. _

Would they always do that? Got hurt, and then hurt the other one to lessen the pain, he wondered. They would hurt each other to avoid facing the truth. It hurt because they shared feelings. He could not bear the idea of them sharing something while she would marry Carlisle. He wouldn't be able to survive it. If a man were to take her from him, he had to be worthy of her. Worthier than him, no less. He took a deep breath and said: - _Go or stay, you must sack Carlisle. It isn't worth buying months of scandal with a lifetime of misery. _He sighed, to expel some of his anger towards the man. Towards Mary. Towards life in general. _When is he due back?_

_- Tomorrow. He and aunt Rosamund's beau are returning for the servants' ball. _

He sighed again. He needed to regain control over his feelings. He had asked for the truth. He had to face it. He should not be angry at her.

_- Will that still go ahead? _The ball and Bates were a safe topic. No feelings involved. No anger towards her, him or himself.

_- Not if Bates is … Not if the worst happens. Papa hasn't faced that it probably will. _The worst had happened, at least for Matthew. Mary had stunned him by telling him her secret. She was a calm woman, hiding her passionate side. She hated him with passion when he had arrived at Downton, but it had then moved from a fierce hate to an unsuspected love. Then life came in the way. Misunderstandings, the war, Lavinia, Carlisle. But he couldn't hate her, he couldn't despise her. He slowed down.

_- You were wrong about one thing. _

_- Only one? And what is that, pray?_

_- I never would…_ He took a deep breath and faced her. _I never could despise you. _

Tears welled up again in her eyes as he walked on and she stayed immobile for a second. "I never could despise you". The sentence rang in her ear. She had expected him to shout. To get angry, angrier than what he had shown her. They remained silent until they reached the house. Lord Grantham was waiting for them in the lobby.

The father saw the tearful eyes of his eldest daughter when she entered.

_- Mary? Are you all right?_

_- Of course Papa._ She gave him a fake smile. _I am just worried about Isis. I am tired. _She turned slightly to face Matthew. _I'll see you soon? _She had to know if he was repelled by her, if he was to turn his back on her despite his promise.

_- Tomorrow. _

She nodded and left the two men alone. Mary was not even at the top of the stairs when she let herself cry in silence.

_- Mary,_ called her father.

_- Yes? _She wiped her tears.

- _Sleep well._

She barely acknowledged his words and reached the first floor.

_- So I gather you found Mary. I overheard you mentioned you wanted to talk to her, earlier. _

_- Yes. I did. _The two men were on egg shells. Robert wasn't sure enough to be direct with Matthew and he decently could not talk about that topic with Mary's father. However, he needed to confide in someone. _Do you know that Mary plans on moving to America?_

_- Yes. I was the one to come up with that idea. _

_- It is very far. _

_- Indeed. _

They fell silent again. Matthew was starting to leave when Robert told him.

_- Don't feel betrayed. We all have had a life before we found the person we love. Don't judge Mary on hers. _

_- Hmm. Good night. _

_- Sleep on it, Matthew. That was almost ten years ago. _

_- I doubt I'll be able to sleep, but I'll think about it. _Think about it. That will be the only thing he would be able to do.

Matthew walked back to Crawley House. The weather had changed, took a turn for worse. The coldness was biting his cheeks. He hurried home. Once inside, he dismissed Molsley and went straight to his room.

He started to take off his cold clothes. His necktie and his jacket first. He slowly undid the buttons of his shirt. His mind wandered back to Mary and Pamuk. Had she taken off his clothes? Did she enjoy revealing his skin? Did she kiss every inch that was uncovered?

He had that fantasy of undressing Mary. Many times during the war and even before, he had had that fantasy of delicately removing her gloves, to feel her fingers on him. Then he would take off her dress. He knew enough about women to know that there would be a corset and sometimes, a shirt underneath it. He would imagine unlacing her corset, to find a lacy shirt. In his mind it was almost see through, but leaving everything to imagination. He would then unpin her hair. Her gorgeous hair. She has really long hair, that he knew silky and soft to the touch.

He had always liked to link his fingers in her hairdo when they would kiss, when he had proposed, all those years ago. In his fantasy she had her hair spread on his pillow, in his bed. He never imagined her in her room. As he had never been in it, it was easier to imagine her in his bed. And what a rush of excitement it was to think of her in his bed.

His reverie took him back to Belgium and France. To the trenches. It was very seldom that he would indulge in his fancy of Mary. Most of the time, he had neither the time nor the energy to daydream about her. An erection was too energy-consuming back then. He knew soldiers, brother of arms who would go to brothels every time they had a leave. They would stop there on their way to their wives or fiancées. Some would brag, some would not say a word about going.

He had been. Once. Only once. He had lost several of his men on that frightful day. His man servant had been killed as well as three others. He had gone to drink a pint in an estaminet when his comrades made a move to the nearest brothel. He had followed them inside.

His drunkenness and sorrow carried him inside a room. Two prostitutes came into the room.

_- C'est un nouveau celui-là!_

_- Je ne l'ai jamais vu par ici. _

He knew enough French to understand that they wondered about him being new there.

_- Who do you want, soldier?_

_- Captain. I am a Captain, _he slurred._ You, _he pointed. _You, with the dark hair. _

_- Moi? Bien monsieur. _The other girl fled the room, leaving them alone. _What you want?_

_- Sorry?_

_- Me? What you want me?Have sex?_

_- No! No… _He would only have sex with his wife, Mary. No! Lavinia. Lavina, his future wife. The girl walked to him.

_- Sit. _He sat down, too drunk to complain. _Une pipe. _

A pipe? What was she talking about? He didn't smoke. He sometimes borrowed one in the trenches, but that was all. The woman undid his trousers. Her hair was dark and flowy, like Mary's. Oh Mary. He closed his eyes for a second. He suddenly felt her mouth? On him? He opened his eyes at once to Mary's hair spread on his legs, obstruacting her face.

He sighed. _– Oh Mary! _He remembered her fingers on his penis and then he ejaculated. When he came down from his high, he realised his mistake. It was not Mary. It never would be Mary. He was engaged to Lavinia. He had paid the prostitute and rushed back to his trenches.

He had no time to handle the guilt, so he had buried it at the back of mind. It should have never been ungraved.

No longer lost in his thoughts, he got rid of the rest of his clothes, changed into his pyjama and went in his bed. His throat was still as closed up as before. He thought that even if he had to, he would not be able to talk. This secret had left him voiceless.

Mary shared passion with another man. That hurt. That hurt much more than their break up, much more than her writing about her engagement to Carlisle. But why, he wondered. When it came to it, he knew that Mary would not marry Sir Richard Carlisle. Her family hated him. She seemed to despise him most of the time.

Robert's words came back to his mind. How could he not feel betrayed? He loved her at the time. He was in love with her and she never told him, never even hinted about it. He felt betrayed. And jealous. Maybe even more jealous than betrayed. She was his Mary. Not Carlisle's, not Pamuk's but his. His love.

He had meant what he told her that she would always have a home at the big house. She needn't marry anyone. He had pictured them old, grey and still bickering their lives away. He was ready to spend his life with her, even unmarried a few days ago. What had changed? An uncovered secret? Himself had known another woman. He had his own life parallel to Mary's. She had been intimate with Pamuk before them falling in love. He had been with a prostitute after falling in love with her. They both had mitigating circumstances. He made peace with that episode of his life, how could he judge Mary on hers?

He tried to rationalise his thoughts. He was considerate enough not to have double standard towards women. He would not have thought badly of William having a relation before his wedding to Daisy. Why could he not apply the same attitude towards Mary? Because she was a woman. She was his woman. His Mary. He sighed. The first rays of the morning light appeared on the horizon. He had come to a realisation. He felt betrayed because he was still in love with her. He was not jealous of Pamuk, but envious. He would have loved to have been the only man in Mary's life.

But the war had changed them all, had changed the world. Modern times brought new customs, and maybe it could also bring a new vision of love.


End file.
